Venom Poem by Phillip Nine Mafunga

I keep hearing his vile and venomous rantings
The menacing glare of the African sun unkind on his white skin
Gun in the hands of hate is always lethal
But why are those of his own kind quiet?
Crusaders he says they are
Hate begets hate and war begets war

My heart bleads inside of me seeing the tearing apart of our societies
Why do each one of us feel so justified to be callous and evil?
Why do we have to war to dialogue is that the only language we know?
Aren't there problems enough to embitter our already repugnant minds?
I keep hearing his vile and venomous rantings
Had he the gun, white crimson-flow would've washed through the streets too.

Th Holy Book, always the weapon of choice for the reprobate
Like real money in the hands of ‘El Chapo' Guzman, does it then become fake?
The black man lay dead on the floor, the white man dancing in Satanic victory
Race relations having gone so awfully bad
Yes, I keep hearing his vile and venomous rantings
The shrink will declare him mental why, because he is white.


Phillip Nine Mafunga
3 December 2019